


Warm, Comforting

by sahiya



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:46:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal is sick but Peter and Elizabeth are there for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm, Comforting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [embroiderama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/gifts).



> Happy holidays, Embroiderama!

Neal was lying on his sofa, staring blankly - and miserably - at the TV when his phone rang. He groaned and considered which was more repugnant at that moment: letting the phone continue its ear-piercing ring or moving to stop it. Before he could make up his mind, it stopped. Then it started up again.

Neal sighed and fumbled for it. It was, as he’d expected, Peter. “Yeah,” he said.

“Do you always go monosyllabic when you’re sick?” Peter asked.

Neal sighed. “Peter, whatever it is, can I deal with it tomorrow? Or the day after, preferably?”

“Not this,” Peter said. “This is a courtesy warning.”

Neal raised his eyebrows in alarm. “What? What’s going on?” He _could not_ deal with the U.S. Marshals while feeling like something scraped off the floor of a subway station. Besides, he couldn’t imagine what they might suspect him of. He hadn’t moved from his apartment in the last twelve hours, nor did he have the intention of doing so any time soon.

“El and I are on our way up. See you in a couple minutes.” With that, Peter hung up.

Neal took his phone away from his ear and stared at it, blinking in bewilderment. Then he realized he was wearing a ratty undershirt and a slightly too-large pair of boxers, and his sense of vanity was enough to propel him off the couch and into his dressing room.

By the time Peter and El knocked on his door, Neal was at least wearing a bathrobe. He also had put a pot of coffee on, managed to clear some of the crumpled tissues off the sofa, and thrown his comforter over the rumpled sheets on the bed. Then he’d gotten really dizzy and had to lie down on the sofa again until he stopped feeling like he was about to pass out.

That was where Peter and El found him. “Hi sweetie,” Elizabeth said, bending to kiss his forehead. She _tsk’d_ and seated herself gingerly on the edge of the coffee table. “How are you feeling?”

“Not so great,” Neal admitted. He could hear Peter in the kitchenette, putting things away. “What’d you bring me?” he asked, turning his head to try and see.

“Matzo ball soup,” Peter replied, glancing over his shoulder. “Homemade, using Elizabeth’s grandmother’s matzo ball recipe. Also ginger ale and more tea than you could possibly drink in this lifetime.”

“Thanks,” Neal said, genuinely touched. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I talked to Jones this morning,” Peter said, coming over so that Neal could see him without straining his neck. He put his hands on his hips and regarded Neal with a frown. “He called me to say he was going to be out at least another day or two with this bug. He said it totally flattened him, he ended up going to stay with his mom. I thought I should make sure you weren’t, I don’t know, passed out on your bathroom floor or something.”

Neal suppressed a cough. “Aww, Peter. You were worried about me.”

“ _We_ were worried about you,” Elizabeth corrected him. “And yes. Being sick and on your own is no fun.”

Neal didn’t quite know what to say to that. He cleared his throat. “I’m okay, really. I’m just going to sleep all day.”

“But you’ll call us if you need us, right?” Elizabeth said sternly.

“Sure,” Neal said, though he knew he was unlikely to.

Peter gave him a look as though he knew exactly what Neal was thinking. “We’ll both be by after work,” he said. “No arguments. This bug knocked Jones on his ass.”

Neal decided he knew when he was beat. “Okay. Have a good day, both of you.”

Peter squeezed his shoulder, Elizabeth brushed his hair back from his forehead, and then they were both gone. Neal rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. It was nice, he thought, to know they cared. Even if it really wasn’t necessary.

Neal slept for most of the day. He woke a couple times when his phone beeped at him, indicating a text message, but it just seemed like so much work to pick it up and look at it. His head ached and his back ached and the mere notion of eating anything made him queasy. He was thirsty, but he didn’t think getting up would be such a good idea - and if he drank anything, he thought blearily, he’d just have to get up again to pee.

He didn’t properly wake up again until late afternoon, when his phone rang. The first two times, he let it go to voicemail, too exhausted and weak to think about trying to find it. The third time, he forced himself to fumble for it on the floor. It was then he realized he was _freezing_ , his whole body wracked with shivers.

“‘lo,” he managed, trying to hunch deeper into his throw.

“Neal, honey, it’s me,” Elizabeth said, distractedly. “I’m just finishing up at work. Do you need anything? I can stop by a Duane Reade’s on my way over.”

“I,” Neal said, and then stopped. “I don’t know,” he managed at last.

There was a brief silence. “Neal, are you okay?” El asked. “You sound worse than this morning.”

“I don’t know,” Neal said again, because all he could think about was getting off the phone so he could crawl into bed and get warm. “I, I feel pretty awful.”

“Okay, hang in there. I’m on my way.”

“‘Kay,” Neal said, and hung up. He let the phone fall to the floor and then pulled the blanket off the sofa as he stood. He stumbled, head swimming, and barely managed the few steps between the sofa and the bed before his knees gave out. He fell onto the bed in a barely controlled collapse, pulled the throw half-over himself, and then lay shivering in uncomprehending misery.

The next he was aware, Elizabeth was hovering over him and saying his name. She’d pulled his comforter over him, but he was still shaking uncontrollably, barely able to get her name out. He heard her call Peter on her cell, but he couldn’t seem to focus on anything she was saying. She sounded worried. He tried to tell her he was okay, but all that came out was a muffled groan. El hung up and disappeared, taking her warmth with her. She came back with a damp cloth in her hands, which she pressed against the back of Neal’s neck. He flinched away from the cold, with a helpless, whimpering noise he instantly hated himself for.

“We need to get your fever down, sweetie, you’re burning up.”

He shook his head. “I’m _cold_.”

“I know, but . . .” Elizabeth sighed. “Here.” She climbed up onto the bed, sitting against the headboard. She tugged at him, and he found himself laying his head and shoulders in her lap, letting her cradle him against her. She pulled the comforter up and stroked her fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp with her nails. This time, when she draped the damp cloth across his forehead, it felt good.

“You promised me you’d call if you needed us,” she said in a gently scolding tone.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Didn’t know.”

She sighed and didn’t say anything else. But her fingers kept moving in his hair, tugging gently, the pads of her fingers rubbing his temples. His headache had been getting steadily worse all afternoon, but El’s hands were cool against his skin, drawing out the heat and the pain. She rubbed her knuckles up and down the nape of his neck. “Better?” she murmured after a few minutes.

“Mmm.”

Some untold number of minutes later, Peter arrived. Neal didn’t open his eyes - his eyelids weighed fifty pounds each - but he felt Peter come and sit on the bed. There was a rustling, as of shopping bags, and Peter and El spoke to each other in hushed tones. Peter’s hand rested on Neal’s back, warm and strong, rubbing slow circles. 

“Neal, buddy,” Peter said after a little while, “you awake?”

Neal dragged his eyes open. “Hey,” he said, looking up at Peter. “I feel like hell.”

“You look like it,” Peter said. Neal didn’t even have the energy to scowl at him. “Can you sit up? We should get some meds and soup into you.”

“Yeah,” Neal said, without enthusiasm. He was so comfortable right where he was. Which was, he realized after a moment, _in Elizabeth’s lap_. He glanced at Peter, but he didn’t seem upset. Just worried.

The two of them helped him sit up. El let him lean against her, and Peter left briefly. Neal rested his head in the crook of her neck, closed his eyes, and didn’t open them again until Peter came back. He was carrying a tray with a bowl of the reheated matzo ball soup, a glass of orange juice, and a blister pack of pills.

Neal swallowed the pills obediently. The two of them sat with him quietly as he ate. Elizabeth’s shoulder pressed against his own. Peter, sitting at the foot of the bed, rested his hand on Neal’s blanket-covered foot, occasionally rubbing its arch with his thumb.

Finally Neal pushed the bowl away, unable to eat anymore. “Thanks,” he said, embarrassed.

“Feeling better?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yeah,” Neal said. The two of them exchanged a glance. “A bit, anyway.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Peter said, “I think I’m going to stay the night.”

Neal didn’t know what to say to that. “You don’t have to,” he tried at last. “I’ll be okay.”

Peter shook his head. “Look, Neal, we don’t want you to end up in the ER because you were too sick to get yourself a glass of water. I’m staying tonight. Okay?”

Neal nodded. “Okay,” he said, allowing just a bit of his relief to color his voice. “Thanks.”

He supposed he should be embarrassed, but he wasn’t. Peter’s hand was a warm, comforting weight on his ankle, Elizabeth an equally warm, comforting presence at his side. He didn’t want to be alone, he admitted to himself. And he didn’t have to be. 

_Fin._


End file.
